


Malevolence

by theLiterator



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Torture, chapter 13 spoilers, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 03:18:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8828362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLiterator/pseuds/theLiterator
Summary: Written for the prompt: Ardyn is a sadist who really likes torturing Noctis and either fantasizes about raping him. . . or goes right ahead and does it. Bonus points if Ardyn rants that he doesn't understand why the whole world is up Noctis' ass.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This has more of my personal headcanon in it than I strictly meant to put in, so feel free to mention it if anything doesn't make sense!

It was only right that when Ardyn finally had the Chosen King all to himself that he should strip him bare.

His skin was pale and perfect all over, rough with goose flesh from the chill of the prison block, and when Ardyn circled him he found that one imperfection, that bit of filth that should have made him Ardyn’s pet and not the gods’.

He ran a finger down the angry, rope-like scar on His Majesty’s back, feeling the way the infection reached out for the like that ran through Ardyn’s veins and was stopped, stymied still by the magic of a dead Oracle.

He snarled and reeled back, striking blindly and without a goal, barely even earning himself a groan for the effort.

He smiled again and circled back, catching Noctis's chin in between thumb and fingers and squeezing, jerking his face up and stealing his gaze.

“You deserve none of this,” Ardyn crooned, using his free hand to push dark hair back from Noctis’s face. “You should have been mine all along.”

He earned a low growl for a reply and released Noctis’s jaw, only to backhand him with far more precision than before, knocking him off-balance, forcing him to dangle limply from the chains anchored to the ceiling while he shook his head and blinked and licked blood from his lips.

“That why you helped me?” Noctis gritted out, perhaps to trying make himself sound older, perhaps trying to make himself feel braver.

“Hmm,” Ardyn said, gentle again as he ran his hands down the thin chest and let his touch linger against his ribs, enjoying the way they heaved with each breath. Easy enough, he thought, to start there. “No,” he said.

The last interrogators to use this cell were either dead or daemons so they likely wouldn't mind if he took the baton from the racks of tools and used it on a warm and squirming victim.

And even if they might have, they'd never have said aught to him about it.

“Then w--” Noctis began to demand, even as Ardyn whirled and slammed the baton exactly against his ribs so he could hear the crunch of bone fracturing even under the shrill, wet scream it earned him.

He liked that noise-- liked both of them, really, the harmony they made against the staticky buzzing in his head and in his veins, and he laid aside the baton again and waited for Noctis’s heaving breaths to even out, waited for the would-be-king to master himself. After long moments, he draped his hands on Noctis’s ribs again and squeezed, just to feel the bones grind and hear the sharp staccato noise of Noctis’s renewed pain.

It was lovely, really, and Ardyn could see himself reflected in the warm purple pain of Noctis’s gaze, and he smiled at him.

“You really don't understand?” he asked, letting go and circling again. The scar was still there, mocking him and making him ache to touch it. He wondered if the boy had never been told.

He bent down to the pale flesh that kissed the tip of the scar and bit him there, sharp and sudden, and _pulled_ at the dormant infection. “You should have realized. You should have gotten on your knees and _begged_ for my help. I'm the only one who ever could have saved you, Noctis Lucis Caelum, and I'm the only one who doesn't want to.”

“But you--” Noctis started.

Ardyn cut him off, pressing gloved fingers into his king’s mouth, and Noctis wasn't stupid enough _not_ to bite. Ardyn, however, wasn't stupid enough to think Noctis would have come this far, help or not, allies or not, if he weren't the sort of man who'd bite when given the chance, so he wrapped his free hand around Noctis’s throat and squeezed, hard, not letting go even once Noctis's mouth went slack around his fingers.

He waited for his new plaything’s consciousness to wane, then eased up just enough for Noctis to suck in a desperate breath before squeezing hard again, and he watched with a thrill of joy as Noctis's eyelids flickered and he started to thrash against his bonds, desperate for air.

It wasn't even all that difficult, torture, he mused. He hadn't really _needed_ two millennia to perfect it, and yet…

And yet.

This prince, barely able to keep himself alive, represented the culmination of many years’ planning and laying in wait, and watching him hang limp and pant for breath through broken ribs was somehow more thrilling than even Ardyn had anticipated.

“I had imagined this, you know,” he said. “Not you, I don't think. You’re a bit more of a mewling little child than I would have hoped for. Too much unearned loyalty, not enough…” he leaned in and raked his nails down Noctis’s uninjured side and listened to the little moans of pain with a raised eyebrow and a practiced smile. “ _Steel_.”

“Still, despite the many disappointments in the quality of my new plaything, I cannot help how arousing I find your helplessness.”

Noctis opened his mouth a little, and Ardyn could see him fight with himself over whether to ask for clarification. He hummed to himself and turned back to the display of implements, fingers grazing over a knife and brass knuckles before settling on a leather strap.

There was something to be said about spanking an unruly whelp, really.

He didn't warn before he struck, and his reward was a low drawn out noise that could have been a scream, he thought, if he pushed hard enough, and _oh_ how he'd love to hear this one scream endlessly-- he imagined it in chorus, this king in harmony with every king before him, every king who had taken what was rightly Ardyn’s and placed it in trust for a boy who was as corrupted as he was.

He picked his targets at random, watching as red marks bloomed against that pale skin, none of them quite dark enough, _malevolent_ enough to match the daemon-scar on the king’s back, but as the noises he drew from the bruised throat increased in intensity, he could feel his whole being respond to that crescendoing pain.

Distantly, he could hear the panic from the neighboring cells, sense the way those undeserved companions’ worry increased with every little slap of leather against flesh, every cry of pain wrenched past bitten lips, and that spurred him on harder.

“You don't deserve them!” he snarled. “They aren't meant to be _yours_. You're mine, you're _corrupt_ , you'll see!”

Noctis shuddered and soon Ardyn could draw no more than sad, helpless whimpers from the stupid whelp, and he cast the leather strap aside.

“I'll show you,” he insisted, pressing bodily against Noctis’s limp form. “I've _dreamt_ of showing you,” he said.

He forced himself to step back, and Noctis’s eyes, purple-hued and dazed, followed the movement from beneath his long, sooty lashes, which pleased Ardyn.

He made a show of peeling off his gloves and shedding his hat and cape, carefully laying it all aside next to the neat rows of instruments, and then he ran his hands, bare now, down Noctis’s torso, reveling in the flinches the slightest pressure brought him, and then he kissed him, tasting the bitterness of his blood and his pain, and smiled into the kiss.

“I've _dreamt_ of this,” he repeated, and slid his hands around to Noctis's back, down to cup his buttocks and press his fingers between them, and he knew the second Noctis realized his intent, delighted in the sudden rigidity of his posture.

“No,” Noctis said clearly, and Ardyn laughed.

“Come now, my sweet prince. Don't you want to know how _this_ dream ends?” 

The goal was not to inflict pain, here, but to _hurt_ , so he found the lubricant in among the rest of the things and slicked up his hand until he couldn't bear the sensation before working a finger into the would-be-king’s body.

Noctis tensed and pushed against the intrusion, but he knew that with enough patience and gentle pressure, there wouldn't be any stopping him, nor any pain at all, and it would be exactly as he'd pictured it, down to every last sigh.

He'd beaten the fight out of Noctis, so though there was struggle, it wasn’t insurmountable. And though Noctis thrashed and tried to pull away, he hadn't the strength to succeed, and Ardyn gentled him with a long loving stroke down the side with the broken rib, pressing his fingers a little harder where the skin was hot and swollen with damage _he’d_ inflicted.

Ardyn licked the shell of Noctis's ear just to feel him shudder and worked him open slowly and inexorably, and occasionally those stupid, loyal, _pawns_ called out a question and were met with only Noctis's silence.

Once he was certain Noctis was ready for this, his last gift, his last corruption, Ardyn withdrew his hand and unbuttoned his trousers, slicking up his cock and pausing to admire that scar one last lingering time.

The first thrust tore a low-voiced whimper from Noctis and Ardyn hushed him gleefully, kissing his hair and telling him not to make a sound or his friends would know _exactly_ what was going on, and he could _feel_ the strain in Noctis’s very being as he tried to hide this particular shame from the only people left in all the world to care about the fate of the last king of Lucis.

Ardyn didn't try to arouse him-- didn't want him aroused, as wonderful as that could have been, because while the hurt must come from shame, it couldn't be overpowered by it, and so he fucked into the king dangling from his chains until he and he alone had his completion, and as he recovered from the wash of hot pleasure, he tucked himself away and started to pull the rest of his clothing back on.

Before he left the cell, perfecting the scene, he stepped right up to Noctis and forced him to meet his gaze. “Tell me, Majesty, how much you _despise_ me,” he said, wiping a re-gloved thumb at the dampness of tears on Noctis's cheekbone.

“I'll kill you,” Noctis hissed, and the tones of despair and anger were so complete that Ardyn smiled and nodded.

He took the Ring from where he'd set it before burning the king’s clothing and pressed it between Noctis's lips before patting his cheek.

“Exactly as I'd dreamt, then,” he said before striding out of the interrogation room.

He barely paused in his exit to unlock one of the cells holding the king’s pathetic entourage, and the sounds of outraged confusion followed him as he left.

**Author's Note:**

> Liked this? Want more? Check me out on [tumblr](https://theliterator-ffxv.tumblr.com)!


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